Shamash
by the corrupted quiet one
Summary: It's the last night of Chanukah and Kenny has a surprise for Kyle. Well, unless Kyle gets to it first. Kenny/Kyle.


The frosted window pane captures the candles' light, tangerine glow diffusing, giving each flame a ghostly aura, contrasting with the dark night. The wicks blacken, shrinking slowly as the walls supporting them soften, relax. While only just kindled, the candles heat, sweat, melt; translucent dribbles lethargically roll down the tall pillars, meandering to towards shiny silver rims, some already dotted with dry bits of wax. But those little flecks are ignorable, easily overlooked when compared to the rest of the menorah's sharp polish, the elegant arms branching side to side, all emerging from the Magen David. One neat piece of metalwork, crafted with the sole intent of performing and showcasing the _mitzvah_.

Yeah, if Kyle picked it out, he would've gone with something a little more low-key, less overtly Jew-y. But it was a wedding present, Uncle Murrey proud of purchasing off the registry, deciding that a genuine _chanukiah_ would be of more use than, say, a toaster, or a microwave, or something else that can be used _every_ day. He left a long message, too, a whole card filled with a bunch of fluff about how he bought it from some little merchant in a Jerusalem _shuk_ , for some absurd amount of shekels that convert to a still absurd amount of dollars. However, when Kyle tilted it over, inspecting the underside, he discovered a small discreet sticker: Made in China. Whatever its origin, it at least does its job.

He scans over the candles, one for each night, plus the _shamash_ , the helper. That one always stays lit, and when the time comes to light another, it transfers some of its fire. It gives and gives, dividing itself eight times over, but never does its shine diminish. Yeah, it's because fire doesn't really work that way, but he likes to think there's something _somewhat_ poetic hidden in the stick of beeswax, even if retailers are intent on making the holiday a little more tacky.

From the corner of his eye, he sees Kenny, standing in the doorway of the living room, phone to his ear. Judging from his tone, Kevin is on the other end of the line, exchanging a few seasonal wishes. They never seemed close when they were young—at least from Kyle's point of view—but a combination of the armed forces and an ocean's distance ended up helping rather than hurting. Kenny listens to a joke, smiles, laughs. His whole face lights up when he laughs, each chuckle carrying some burst of energy, happiness, the kind that brings a soft curve to Kyle's lips.

Blue eyes flicker over to him, glancing briefly, casually, then looking away, and then back again. As he turns his head, Kyle catches a glint from the wedding ring, more polished silver, more bright lights. But none of them shine the way Kenny does.

"Kev I gotta go," He says, taking a step into the living room. His footsteps fill the brief pause, the unheard portion of a two-sided conversation, "Yeah I know it's New Year's Eve but we gotta light one more," _Thud thud_ on the hardwood floor, as he comes nearer, "Well I didn't make the damn calendar, Kev."

Kenny wraps an arm around Kyle's shoulders, ship come to harbour, anchoring himself for the night. It's same kind of hold as the one from their very first date, and from the first night they shared, and from the day they got engaged, and from their wedding, and from their honeymoon, too. Kyle feels every muscle relax as Kenny leans against him, cosying up. Kenny rests his cheek on a cushion of crimson curls, and Kyle lets his hand drift to the back pocket of Kenny's jeans, brushing denim and metal and…

Paper. Glossy, like a photograph, but not quite. Little, shaped like a square or rectangle, smaller than a postcard. His fingertips slide over, prints pretending they can read it like braille, even though all he proves is that there's something flat there. He finds the corner, puts a finger on either side, pulls it up and out. Kyle tries separating, but Kenny keeps him locked, in place.

"Yeah, _bye_ Kev, gotta go, _someone's_ trying to get at 'is _surprise_ ," Kenny hangs up the phone, lifting his head. He sets it on the sill, right beside the menorah, so the candlelight reflects on the dark screen. Then, he turns, turning Kyle with him, so they face each other, embrace each other. Kyle feels lips press to his forehead, warm and tender. He feels like wax, ready to melt, or maybe the heat's just cranked up too high.

Kyle lets his arm rest at his side, curiously thumbing the sheet, but too content to move his head, break Kenny's kiss. No, not when Kenny gives and gives his glow, gives it to Kyle to kindle his heart, while still remaining dazzling as a star. He's like the _shamash_ , only he does so much more than just help ignite.

A hum tickles his skin, and Kenny leans back. Breath escapes as a sigh, blowing over his face, and gradually Kyle looks up. Those same baby blue eyes and that same goofy grin he fell in love with greet him.

"Y'know, I spent _all day_ keeping that from ya." He says, smooth and sly.

"Please, you're shit at secrets," A laugh weaves with his words, "You spoiled your own damn proposal."

"Yeah, I know, I got a husband who won't lemme live it down," His hand runs down Kyle's spine, one fluid motion, tingling every excitable nerve along the way. He makes broad strokes across Kyle's back, like a painter on a canvas, illustrating with invisible ink, "Why I wanted to keep _that_ under wraps."

"What?" Kyle tilts his head, smirks, "You divorcing me?"

"Course not, _asshole_ ," Suddenly, the paper slips from Kyle's hand, one moment there, the next gone. At the same time, Kenny steps back, raising his hand, with it the slip. A picture, made up of four boxes, panels of a comic strip. All black and white, masses of grey, all sort of blurry. A sonogram, ultrasound images, "Otherwise I probably wouldn't be showing you _our_ kid."

 _Their kid._ A few months ago, they talked about it, being dads. After a heartbeat agreement, they talked for hours and hours about options, whether to do adoption or surrogacy, who to call and what to ask. Eventually, and after much reassurance, they agreed that, for their first at least, Kyle would donate, and Karen would carry, the closest to a biological as they could. Kenny had the condition that he'd do all the check-ups with Karen, since she was still his baby sister. Kyle didn't know she had one today; that must have been the big surprise.

His cheeks hurt, hurt from smiling. Buoyant, that's how he feels, like hot air, rising up and up and up into the ether. That's the kind of joy this is, the kind of bliss. Some olive oil in a Temple lasted eight days when it should've only lasted one. Some machine at a fertility clinic made pictures out of nothing and showed two idiots the child they'd soon call theirs. Fire transmits, new life grows, a miracle.

Kenny wears the same grin. He bites back the laughter, "So we gonna light the last one o' these bad boys 'n move onto the part where I coat ya in oil?"

Everything about this holiday is oil. Latkes get fried in it. Some candles get burned with it. Kenny's tradition is having Kyle end each night rubbed in it. But it's also about light, not literal, figurative. The light is carried on and persists, creating more and more light out of just one source. And that's what this is, more and more light, from the source of their love, soon to result in another addition to the family.

Or maybe Kyle just likes to think there's something _somewhat_ poetic in about their lives.

* * *

A/N: Happy holidays! Sorry I haven't been posting much recently, I've been doing a lot of academic and travelling stuff. But I wanted to sneak in one little bit of holiday fluff before the year ended. New Years Resolution will be to update more frequently but let's see how my schedule goes, haha. Thanks so much for reading! Hope you leave a review! And here's hoping next year is awesome!


End file.
